Fear of Falling
Since she was fourteen, singer Sophie James has been an international superstar. With her career (and life) directed by her manager, Ray, she hasn’t had to worry about a thing for more than a decade…not where she goes, not what she sings, not who she is. But when Ray has a heart attack, Sophie is left without the only real father figure she’s ever known and questioning everything she believes about what’s important to her.
Enter Dana Landon, the new manager sent by Sophie’s record company. Dana is gorgeous, sophisticated, and ready to do her job keeping Sophie’s career on track and making the record company money. Dana captures Sophie’s attention in ways Sophie never expected and isn’t ready for, but after so many years of being told what to do, Sophie’s ready to shake things up with some ideas of her own. Ones Dana hasn’t been planning on and isn’t at all sure she likes.
Praise for Georgia Beers
The Do-Over
“You can count on Beers to give you a quality well-paced book each and every time.”—The Romantic Reader Blog
“The Do-Over is a shining example of the brilliance of Georgia Beers as a contemporary romance author.”—Rainbow Reflections
“[T]he two leads are genuine and likable, their chemistry is palpable…The romance builds up slowly and naturally, and the angst level is just right. The supporting characters are equally well developed. Don’t miss this one!”—Melina Bickard, Librarian, Waterloo Library (UK)
Calendar Girl
“Calendar Girl is a perfect masterclass on how to write a breathtakingly beautiful romance novel…Georgia Beers had me captivated from the start with this story. Two skilfully crafted characters, an enthralling plot and the best kissing scene ever!”—Kitty Kat’s Book Review Blog
“Calendar Girl by Georgia Beers is a well-written sweet workplace romance. It has all the elements of a good contemporary romance…It even has an ice queen for a major character.”—Rainbow Reflections
“A sweet, sweet romcom of a story…Calendar Girl is a nice read, which you may find yourself returning to when you want a hot-chocolate-and-warm-comfort-hug in your life.”—Best Lesbian Erotica
The Shape of You
“I know I always say this about Georgia Beers’s books, but there is no one that writes first kisses like her. They are hot, steamy and all too much!”—Les Rêveur
The Shape of You “catches you right in the feels and does not let go. It is a must for every person out there who has struggled with self-esteem, questioned their judgment, and settled for a less than perfect but safe lover. If you’ve ever been convinced you have to trade passion for emotional safety, this book is for you.”—Writing While Distracted
Blend
“Georgia Beers hits all the right notes with this romance set in a wine bar…A low-angst read, it still delivers a story rich in heart-rending moments before the characters get their happy ever after. A well-crafted novel, Blend is a marvelous way to spend an evening curled up with a large glass of your favorite vintage.”—Writing While Distracted
“You know a book is good, first, when you don’t want to put it down. Second, you know it’s damn good when you’re reading it and thinking, I’m totally going to read this one again. Great read and absolutely a 5-star romance.”—The Romantic Reader Blog
“This is a lovely romantic story with relatable characters that have depth and chemistry. A charming easy story that kept me reading until the end. Very enjoyable.”—Kat Adams, Bookseller, QBD (Australia)
“Blend has that classic Georgia Beers feel to it, while giving us another unique setting to enjoy. The pacing is excellent and the chemistry between Piper and Lindsay is palpable.”—The Lesbian Review
Right Here, Right Now
“The angst was written well, but not overpoweringly so, just enough for you to have the heart-sinking moment of ‘will they make it,’ and then you realize they have to because they are made for each other.”—Les Reveur
Right Here, Right Now “is full of humor (yep, I laughed out loud), romance, and kick-ass characters!”—Illustrious Illusions
“[A] successful and entertaining queer romance novel. The main characters are appealing, and the situations they deal with are realistic and well-managed. I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys a good queer romance novel, and particularly one grounded in real world situations.”—Books at the End of the Alphabet
“[A]n engaging odd-couple romance. Beers creates a romance of gentle humor that allows no-nonsense Lacey to relax and easygoing Alicia to find a trusting heart.”—RT Book Reviews
Lambda Literary Award Winner Fresh Tracks
“Georgia Beers pens romances with sparks.”—Just About Write
“[T]he focus switches each chapter to a different character, allowing for a measured pace and deep, sincere exploration of each protagonist’s thoughts. Beers gives a welcome expansion to the romance genre with her clear, sympathetic writing.”—Curve magazine
Lambda Literary Award Finalist Finding Home
“Georgia Beers has proven in her popular novels such as Too Close to Touch and Fresh Tracks that she has a special way of building romance with suspense that puts the reader on the edge of their seat. Finding Home, though more character driven than suspense, will equally keep the reader engaged at each page turn with its sweet romance.”—Lambda Literary Review
Mine
“From the eye-catching cover, appropriately named title, to the last word, Georgia Beers’s Mine is captivating, thought-provoking, and satisfying. Like a deep red, smooth-tasting, and expensive merlot, Mine goes down easy even though Beers explores tough topics.”—Story Circle Book Reviews
“Beers does a fine job of capturing the essence of grief in an authentic way. Mine is touching, life-affirming, and sweet.”—Lesbian News Book Review
Too Close to Touch
“This is such a well-written book. The pacing is perfect, the romance is great, the character work strong, and damn, but is the sex writing ever fantastic.”—The Lesbian Review
“In her third novel, Georgia Beers delivers an immensely satisfying story. Beers knows how to generate sexual tension so taut it could be cut with a knife…Beers weaves a tale of yearning, love, lust, and conflict resolution. She has constructed a believable plot, with strong characters in a charming setting.”—Just About Write
Fear of Falling
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Fear of Falling
© 2019 By Georgia Beers. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-63555-444-1
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: June 2019
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editors: Lynda Sandoval and Stacia Seaman
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design by Ann McMan
By the Author
Turning the Page
Thy Neighbor’s Wife
Too Close to Touch
Fresh Tracks
Mine
Finding Home
Starting from Scratch
br /> 96 Hours
Slices of Life
Snow Globe
Olive Oil & White Bread
Zero Visibility
A Little Bit of Spice
Rescued Heart
Run to You
Dare to Stay
What Matters Most
Right Here, Right Now
Blend
The Shape of You
Calendar Girl
The Do-Over
Fear of Falling
Acknowledgments
As always, thank you to Bold Strokes Books and everybody there for continuing to make the publishing process smooth and stress-free for me.
Thank you to my editors, Lynda Sandoval and Stacia Seaman, for catching my mistakes and teaching me along the way. You’re never too old to improve on your craft, and they help me do that with every book I write.
Thank you to my author friends who get me, hold me accountable on word counts, help me with titles, talk me up when I need it or off the ledge when I need that. Writing is an inherently solitary career, but they make it feel less lonely and more like a group effort.
Finally, and always, I am forever grateful to my amazing readers whose emails and messages lift me up when I need it and keep me going when I feel stuck. Thank you never seems like enough, so I’ll keep writing.
Chapter One
Did something crawl into her mouth and die?
That was only one of the many questions that ran through Sophie James’s mind like the bulls stampeding through Pamplona. Some of the others: Why was the sunshine trying to slice through her eyelids? Who was running the jackhammer inside her skull? Could somebody please give her all the water on the planet, like, right now?
Sophie groaned and laid her arm gingerly across her eyes, wanting to get up and away from the bright and cheerful rays of sunlight that obviously hated her, but the rest of her body didn’t seem to want to move; her legs felt like they were made of sandbags. It took her another five minutes to realize she was on her couch and not in her bed. When that happened, her eyes popped open and a few slivers of memory from the night before began to pierce through her brain.
There had been loud, thumping music.
There had been lots of dancing.
There had been waaaay too many shots.
Oh, God. The shots…
It’s funny how, when vomiting is imminent, a body that previously wouldn’t move suddenly does so at great speed. Sophie made it to the powder room toilet in the nick of time, and anything at all that had remained in her stomach as she slept evacuated her body in a hot, putrid rush.
She groaned in exhausted relief and sat back against the wall. The ceramic tile was cool under her bare legs and for a serious moment, she thought about just lying down and going back to sleep right there on the bathroom floor. She was sliding slowly down the wall to do just that when she heard her cell ringing from somewhere in the living room.
Another groan. Why was every part of her body so freaking heavy? Standing was too hard. She crawled instead. Out of the bathroom, down the hardwood hallway, to the leather couch. Once there, she turned herself so she sat on the floor with her back against it, closed her eyes, and blew out a breath. Yeah, that was more than enough exertion for one day. She was pretty much done.
She saw the note when she reached for the phone.
Soph-a-licious—
Take the Advil. Drink the water. Call me.
—A
For the first time since opening her eyes, Sophie saw the water bottle on the coffee table, now sparkling in the sun, looking inviting. She grabbed it and twisted the top off, drank greedily as her phone beeped to remind her that she’d been too slow in answering and now she had a text.
No. Seventeen texts, she saw now as she downed the four orange tablets.
Seventeen.
That was a lot for somebody who rarely gave out her number.
She sucked down more water, as if hoping it would fortify her against the text onslaught she knew was right there in her hand, and she unlocked the screen.
Four from Andrew, all asking if she was alive. He’d show up at her door if she didn’t respond, so she jotted off a quick text to let him know she did actually open her eyes that morning.
Feel like shit, but I’m breathing, so there’s that, she sent.
Unsurprising, came Andrew’s reply. You and tequila made a beautiful couple last night.
Just the mention of the alcohol made Sophie’s stomach roil in protest, and she grimaced as she waited for it to pass. Andrew said he’d be over later.
Three texts were from Michaela, who had also been out with her and Andrew last night. Before sending her a note like she had to him, she quickly scrolled through the rest of them. Ten more, all from the same person: Vincent D’Angelo. Her agent.
WTF did you do, Sophie? was the first one. The rest were similar in tone. The last one, which had come in while she was crawling from the bathroom like a loser, said simply Turn on Pop!
The feeling that settled in the pit of her stomach as she read that one was different than the overdid-it-last-night-probably-gonna-puke feeling she’d had since she opened her eyes. No, this feeling was something else entirely. This feeling was dread.
With a hard swallow, Sophie grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, switched to the Pop Network. She didn’t have to wait long. It was the top of the hour and Pop always did a quick recap of the top entertainment news of the day then. Brooke Kramer stood there in all her blond Hollywood mannequin glory, looked right at the camera, and said seriously, “Has Sophie James lost it completely over the death of her manager?”
It was like a gut punch. Sophie’s entire body deflated, like it wanted to sink down into the floor and become one with the hardwood. There was grainy video of her, wearing the same royal blue dress she realized she still wore, being half dragged, half carried out of Glitter last night.
“Two months after the death of her longtime manager, Ray Cooper, singer Sophie James was seen last night at Glitter, a hot new Manhattan nightclub. Obviously over-served, Ms. James had to be escorted out by her companions. This is the third time since Cooper’s death that Ms. James has been seen exiting a New York establishment in questionable condition—”
Sophie clicked the TV off with Brooke in mid-sentence. She couldn’t listen to it anymore. In that moment, she didn’t care that she’d been caught on camera doing her best impression of a rag doll. She didn’t care that this was the third time, according to Brooke’s Hollywood sources. Her brain would only focus on one piece of information. Just one from that entire story.
Ray was gone.
When her phone rang in her hand, instead of cursing the name on the screen, she felt a surge of relief. Anything that kept her from dissolving into a pathetic puddle of emotion these days was welcome. Even Vincent D’Angelo, who was about to lambast her, she was pretty sure.
“Hi, Vince,” she said, surprised by the hoarseness of her own voice.
“What the fuck, Sophie?” Vince’s voice was deep and smooth as silk, like warm melted chocolate. Like always. It was only because Sophie had known him for the past ten years that she knew how upset he really was with her. That and the F-bombs. “I mean, seriously. What the actual fuck?”
“I know. I’m sorry.” It was all she could say. She had no excuses.
“You’re making it easy for the media. You know that, right?”
Sophie inhaled quietly and repeated herself. “I know. I’m sorry.” She hated how small her voice sounded, but she couldn’t seem to put anything more into it. She let her head fall back against the couch and closed her eyes.
“Look.” Vince’s voice softened, veered toward the more fatherly tone he often used with her. Sophie sometimes wondered if he even realized it. “I know this has been hard. I know you miss Ray. We all do. But you have to stop this. Miracle is starting to freak out.” He was referring to Sophie’s record company. “Your audience doesn’t handle public drunkenness or profanity-laden
meltdowns well. You know this.” When Sophie didn’t answer, he added, his voice going softer yet, “They’ll only cut you slack for so long. You know?”
“Yeah.”
There was a beat of silence, a beat filled with so much for Sophie. But all she could do was sit, helpless against the tear that coursed slowly down one cheek. She swallowed audibly, then was pretty sure Vince heard it, as he cleared his throat and spoke again.
“So, listen, Miracle is assigning you a new manager and publicist. One person who’ll handle both.”
That made Sophie sit up. “What?” She swiped at the errant tear and furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
“Soph, you can’t not have a manager. I know it’s always been Ray, and I know you miss him. We all do. But you have to have a manager. And you need a publicist, especially now.” It seemed like he actually tried to keep the sarcasm out of the last two words. He didn’t quite succeed.
“Already?” This information got her blood moving. A new manager? For real?
“You’re due to meet with the producers for the next album next week, Soph. You need somebody to start handling things, setting the schedule, get you appearances, do damage control.”